


Cold Phoenix

by R_S



Category: One Piece
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hypothermia, Self-Harm, Suffering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-01 10:21:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13996218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_S/pseuds/R_S
Summary: Marco disappears from the Seas, after the Battle at Marineford.





	Cold Phoenix

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where this came from!! But I got encouraged to share it, so here it is....

“I'll no' take ye' further.” His ruddy face is half hidden for a heavy fur-lined hood and mask. The Sherpa Lucky Roo had hired out of Lost Town to bring them up this frozen mountain.

“Oiya! The deal was to _bring us_ to _the man_!” Thick chest puffing, Roo's shouted into the wind. Everything had been white for hours, all around them. A mighty blizzard that had given no warning. Bringing with it stinging wind and sharp snow.

“Ee- and I give 'im to you-” Gloves made of black seal skin direct Roo and his three companions towards a crack in the mountainside. Like a dark tear, just visible behind swirls of new frost. Here at the top of this island, where the air's gone thin. Enormous drifts piling into crags and uneven ridges. Navigation could still become an issue, but before Roo could protest, he's seen Shanks plod his way forward. Billowing out a sigh, the Pirate's turned to address their Sherpa.

“He's inside?”

“Ee-”

“Eh? What's that, now? Speak a little clearer Ossan-” Benn and Yasopp have also gone on ahead, quickly becoming hazy in swirls of falling snow. Gone after their Captain's black mantle. “ _Is_ he or _ain't_ he?”

“The Phoenix, Marco.” He says it pain, chilly wind eddying around thick boots. Roo's haunted by him. This old man, who gazes at the entrance to which he's just sent them. Eyes glassed over by a layer of frosty ice he appears unbothered by. “Ye will find 'im. Marco. Ee suffers, within.”

 

 

.

.

.

“Shanks!” Benn's sunk into the drift up to his thighs. Struggling to catch up to his Captain. A smaller man, and a lot lighter than he was. Utilizing footholds and rock ledges. Already gotten up and inside the mountain before the First Mate can scramble up the side. Their Gunner having just as much trouble as him.

“Not a good sign, eh? When they say _I'll go this far, but no further_... and so on .. and so on...” Yasopp's shivering under his layers, and he's sure his balls have _never_ been this cold. He'd be useless to draw his pistol at the moment, not that the thing would fire-off in such temperatures. “You really think we'll find him, way out here? Marco?” It's been almost one year since Whitebeard and Ace lost their lives. In a small War that no one seemed to have won, but that changed everything. Reassigning control over the Blues in a massive shuffle. Fueling what always is a constant struggle for every Power to become only one. They'd arrived last... Late. Putting an end to the battle, but they'd seen Marco... Haruta.... Vista... many of the Commanders who served under Whitebeard's Mark. Saw as they in that moment, disbanded. Set adrift on the Blue, all alone.

“Folk in Town said they saw him go on up into the hills, and hasn't come back.” Shanks is waiting for his nakama inside the cave, Benn moving to stand beside him. “Got a ship in the harbor, and been there since the season turned around.” Continuing to talk to Yasopp, because all of his Captain's attention is focused on these rough stone walls. A long light-less corridor going steeply down. It might come to a nasty fall if they're not careful. In this voidful darkness. But at least they were inside, and without the wind-chill Benn's granted the opportunity to smoke. So he does. Pulling a cigarillo from an inside pocket. Roo just catching up to them. A scarf wound around his face. “All set? We ready to go into this here creepy dark cave?”

Lucky Roo's half ready to let his smirking nakama have a piece of his fist, when they hear it. What is surely the reason for their guide to remain firmly removed from this particular location. Also one he would know is correct, by their asking. The sound of a man, and also a bird. Both in a harrowing wail, gradually descending. Perhaps for two, three minutes. Echos stain the dark rock walls, channeled along chiseled ceilings. Until it's strangled... and _finally_ ceased. Shanks staring without a blink, even for the cold. All of the Yonko's considerable Observance put forth to contest _something_ he can't claim he can see.

 

“Let's go.”

 

The cave has no crack or window, apart from the opening in the mountain by way these Pirates have just come. No natural light come down through a long fissure. Nothing. Total, and absolute darkness. Yet if darkness remained the only enemy they faced within these blacksome places, they would count themselves very _lucky_. However, luck is not always on their side. Already there is another obstacle. The cold. Chilly gusts being breathed out by the very island. Exhaling a frigid air they must breathe in. Glad for having taken the advise of their Guide, and dressed as he'd instructed. They're still cold, but they are _alive_.

“What exactly are you going to say to Marco, if you find him?” Benn's been on Shanks' case about things since their Captain had just _sat up_ one day. Out of a heavy sleep. Still hungover after binge drinking the better part of a week. Both eyes bloodshot, and drool in his red hair. Declaring they set sail at once, to find _Marco the Phoenix_ of all Gods and People! That had been about six weeks ago. Come out of the New World, and into North Blue. Docked at a rock-outta-the-way-island nobody would even stop to spit at.

Predictably, Red Hair Shanks doesn't answer his First Mate's question. Only keeps moving forward. Right arm held out to drag a gloved hand along the wall. Only Lucky Roo is carrying a lantern, and it's just not enough to give dimension to their environment. Dancing shadows that immediately play tricks on all four seasoned Pirates.

“If the rumors are true, and that is Marco's boat. He's been here almost the whole time since...” Yasopp's squinting into the dark. Watching gentle glimmers of their weak lantern reflecting off ice encrusted rock. Well bellow _well-below-freezing_ , they progress further into the mountain. Finding there is another level of coldness possible to feel. Gone right to the bone, as they've found it. The source of the cry heard earlier, and what they can hear again. Low, guttering sobs.

 

Come to a place at the end of the long passage, opening spherically. Rocks line the uneven walls, and a few stood about. Unnatural, as if they'd been placed. Leaned up against one of these stones, with his legs out in front of him. A pale person dressed only in an open shirt, trousers, and simple wedged sandals. Shock of yellow-blonde hair contrasting sickly with blue tinged skin. Long gold whiskers on his face encrusted with tears turned to ice, and built up like candle wax. An empty bottle is clutched at the end of his arm, with it's hand all blue. Almost black. The skin's flaking and split around his fingernails, revealing wicked green-tinged rot underneath. His feet also, in their wicker wraps. The toes swollen and purple. Crumbling as he's shifted. Frozen, exposed flesh falling in irregular cubes that gather on the ground as Shanks approaches this man, who _is_ Marco the Phoenix – former First Mate and First Division Commander of Whitebeard's Crew. A whole side of the man's foot breaks away, and a great gout of blue flame bursts from the missing part. The Mythical Zoan's whole body pitching back in an arch, for the regenerative abilities of his Devil's Fruit restoring that part of him to full and healthy condition. Not one-half of a second later, and he's let out an long mewl that leaves him coughing on a grey tongue. The toes that had been regenerated immediately stinging numb. Skin flushing from pink to pale as the blood that feeds it is near-frozen. Sluggishly pushing through the body. When Marco's cardiovascular system drops bellow freezing, it too will be regenerated. Unable to die, it is foreseeable that if he were to remain here, he would continue _the dying_ of hypothermia indefinitely.

 

...a year, nearly, has already gone by.

 

“Marco.” Shanks gets right up close to the former First Division Commander, who does not respond. Sky blue eyes frozen open, caked with ice. Every now and again a flicker of cold blue fire appears inside each cornea. Being restored by curious involvements of the rare type of Tori Tori no Mi. “Oi, Marco. Can you hear me?” Knelt before this man, Shanks appreciates that he's uncertain... of just how old this man is. Rumors put Marco in Wars and Battles recorded during the Void Century. Others back before even the giants scored Reverse Mountain to connect every sea... Stories told about Marco the God, who lived an era in Governance of a Kingdom of Islands on the White-white Sea. So many stories... but the ones Shanks' heard most of recently; they speak of a gentler reputation. About a teacher, brother, and Nakama... about a _son_.

“Yea, _oiya!_ You got ice all hardened inside your ears?” Benn Beckman, as Shanks' First Mate, has a very different outtake of Marco. Less interested in any _history_ linked to the Unique Fruit that gives him essentially eternal life, more that he's a _prick_ on a rival Pirate Crew. Swung his knee back, and brought the hard of his boot to Marco's frozen left leg. Though Benn Beckman is surprised, when the limb breaks free. Crushed in, at the hip. Freeze-burnt flesh barely clings around bone thin as spun glass. The leg rolling sadly on the ground, settling in the pile of flesh cubes already gathered there in mass like some sort of sick gravel. Marco's cracked blue lips stretch. Opening to drag in frigid air. Two quick gasps, before he's screaming again. Deafening peals of vocalized suffering. Blue fire that looks weak, as if it needed more kindling, slowly repairs the part of him that had been lost. Again, two or three gross minutes, and in that time all of their ears are well ringing. Before the man's fallen quiet. Knocked some of the ice from his face in his thrashing in pain. Two frozen fingertips cracking off, the discarded nubs fallen to the floor before he's restored.

“Could'ja not do that again, thanks Benn?” Roo's risked taking his glove off a moment to dig one finger in his ear. Yasopp lowering his gloved hands from where he'd had them pressed over both hears. It'd done little good, because the vibrations alone got in behind the Pirate's eyes. Gave him a headache. It was the bird-song, slipped out of Marco during his anguish. Spoke most clearly of how much discomfort he's experiencing.

“So what're we gonna do, eh Cap'n?” He's got no opinion of Marco. Yasopp. Only met the guy once, and that was when he and Benn got into it in that Bar in West Blue. Slapping each other around like two old women... “No way he's gonna be talking any kind'of sense this way-”

“Ahhhnnn- mmahh... y—yo-you B-bastard... P-pony- - t-t-tale...”

Benn grins, and has a good retort... Except he doesn't use it. Rather he chews an unlit cigarillo, and allows his Captain to say what he needs to, since they've got the guy's slightly _less_ -divided attention. “Marco.”

“Aka-Akagami-? Whadda-you w-want?” Marco moves his arm, and a bit of his thumb breaks off, tunking like a lead weight as it's hit the ground. The man seems unmoved, for this small part that is repaired to be instantly frozen again.

Shanks seems to do some quick thinking, before he's put himself down on the frozen rock next to the other Pirate. Cross-legged, and forced out a chuckle. “I came to see how you were, maybe have a drink?” There are empty wine bottles all over the floor. All, empty. “Would you like a drink?” Yasopp's watching this exchange carefully. Not entirely certain what they are doing here.

“A- d-d-drink, y-y-y-yoi?” Marco's blond head turns very slowly, the skin all along his cheek, neck, and shoulder cracking. The wounds gape open, but his blood clotted and black, and so only escapes him a little. Put out one arm, and able to take the small glass offered to him. Sipped it down, and he's coughing again. Screaming ensues, for the damage that movement makes to his wasted body. “A-aah...”

“Nice place you have here.” The Yonko's frowned, refilling their cups. “Been here long?”

Marco's slugged back more liquor, and then tries to move his right leg. “N-not sure, y-yoi...” Scowling, the former Commander's kicked against the solid rock wall. Foot breaking off at the ankle so that his sandal flops sadly by cloth straps lashed up the man's thick calf. Flames appear again, but this time the Mythical Zoan doesn't cry out, doesn't lash or writhe. His eyes stare at his foot, almost in defiance – as it is restored. A pinch of his nose.

“Folks down in the Town say it's been a year.”

“ _Huh'_.... a y-year....” Again he lifts his cup, as the skin along his foot and repaired ankle sallow and turn sickly pale. “...yoi...”

“If you want, we can take you someplace warmer? Don't'cha think?” but Benn knows the guy's not going to just _come out_. There's a reason he's here. Lost his Father, Family, and his Lover... all in one afternoon. The Fallout from the Battle took sides, all his friends, his loyalties slashed... left with just himself. So he decided to crawl into this cold dark whole to die over and over. How pitiful.

“Or ya' can stay, your sorry frozen Pineapple. We'll have our drink, and be gone.” Shanks doesn't respond to his First Mate's antagenizations. Getting a rise out of Marco could only count as ' _good progress_ '. And so of course, it doesn't.

“Is it penance?” Shank's doesn't have an arm on his left side. Something he's gotten used to, because it's been years since he lost it. Lifting sake to his lips with his right hand, and he's again refilled their cups.

“P-p-penance, yoi?” Blue fingers wrap 'round his cup, and Marco's hand trembles. Setting down the delicate glass with a frown, and striking his elbow to solid rock beside him. Breaking off the limb at its joint. He only pulls a face for the regeneration. Biting into a chapped pale lip. “N-no.” After his arm is come back, he takes up his glass, and drinks once more.

“Then what is it?” More sake. Shanks will continue to ply the other, so long as he's able to speak.

Marco licks his lips for the fiery spirit made of rice and spices. “It j-just gives – s-s-something else to-to-to think about, yoi...” Tears break from the Mythical Zoan's eyes once again. Rolling a little ways down his face before they freeze. Face contorted, and his lips in snarl.

“You think they'd want to see you like this? Ace-”

“He's _dead_ , yoi-” Weather the man's voice cracked and caught due to the cold, or the year he's spent screaming. It didn't much matter. Rivers flowing out of Marco, and he's struck his head back against solid rock. Eyes fluttering shut and motionless a moment, until a bright azure flare appears at the nape of his neck. Raising a pale chin once again. An ere of marginal disappointment, that he's meant to continue living. “..M-m-my Ace...”

 

Yasopp's quietly crossed the room to sit on a rock ledge in the half darkness. Out of the way. Roo also. Both Benn and Shanks remaining closest to Marco, to listen to him chirp weakly out of a ice-lined throat. “...P-pops, y-yoi...”

“They wouldn't want you to have regrets.” Shanks' laughing, as he talks. An odd humor that reflected nothing of their company or atmosphere. Abrasive in it's vibration along the walls, or mingled in cold air. The red haired Yonko refilling the sake cups. Downing his own without ceremony. “Ne? That was _always_ Ace's philosophy.” They knew it was, because the kid had told them all so. Benn can remember, even if it was years ago. How a seventeen year old rookie Pirate came and found them out camping on a cold winter island not unlike this one. Came to thank Shanks personally for saving his little brother's life. The event that took his arm as payment. “He'd be sad, to see you here... like this.”

 

He's provided a long pause, the Pirate Captain Akagami Shanks. Poured them each six or seven more swallows, before he's chanced to poke at the man further. “How long you planin' this, Ne? The Blue's _a'changing_ , and the Great Pheonix of sordid Myth and hidden Legends has gone missing.” Benn bites into the side of his cheek, for his Captain waxing poetic. It's _embarrassing_ enough doing it at all, as he's very well known to do... but in topic of this motherfucker?

“If i-it's m-m-my legend, y-y-yoi, I will expect th-those writing it to-to-to tell the truth.” Shifting his head once again, and Marco's left ear and a portion of his jaw cracks off from his cold face. Blue fire, and a moment later, blue eyes. “It's what they n-n-never l-learn, y-yoi.” Grinning shatters frozen skin, crumbling little patches on Marco's nose and cheeks which are healed by a wandering fire providing no heat. Left moments later to be eaten slowly away by the elements once more. “T-to t-tell the truth, y-yoi.”

“Eh? And what's this truth then?”

“Hehehe... y-yoi...” Marco bends himself forward, and his stomach cracks and caves. Flames smoldering there, rebuilding him as he's winced. Locking eyes with the man in front of him. Shanks. “The t-truth is, y-y-yoi, that s-sometimes... you don't get what you want...” Closing his eyes, the man's shifted, groaned. Broken himself in half, with his hips and legs in one place, torso and above fallen onto the frozen ground. A cold hand clutched to the Yonko's knee, the Zoan takes three breaths...

 

…inhuman, and human. His cries fill the chill air.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! Reviews and Stuff?? I'm gonna get back to working on Shades and Country Boys - I swear!! lol!


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